Chances of Delusions
by musing mynah
Summary: Follow young Anika as the Opera Populaire is rebuilt and remanaged, but watch out for falling melodrama. It's nasty stuff. Will Erik find new love, or merely a servent to his lusts? Read & Review please!
1. Bleak Outlooks

**Disclaimer:** This is going to act as the disclaimer for the entire story. I do not own phantom of the opera. The only things that are owned by I are my made up characters, and the plot line.

**(A/N: This is my first true fanfic, so please R&R truthfully! I'll send Erik to punjab you if you don't. mwahaha. If you see anything wrong, incorrect, unfitting, or otherwise, please comment on it! That's the only way I can get better.**

**Most phics that take up a new female lead are all the same, but this one will most definitely be very different. No one knows where this is going, not even I. I swear I'm flying by the seat of my pants loves, and I appreciate input.)**

**(:EDIT: July 31, 2005: I've added to some of the earlier chapters. I was reading other phics and was inspired, so now my chapters have been added to and such.)**

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Chances of Delusions

_Chapter one: Bleak Outlooks_

Steam clouded the mirrors, a bitter chill seeping through the poorly sealed windowpanes. It mingled with the heat from the drawn bathwater, waltzing in the air and washing over a young robed ballerina. She was clothed in nothing but a plain red robe, her figure hidden beneath folds of fabric. Stepping lightly on dancer's feet, she opened the door gingerly.

"Thank you so much for letting me use your bathing room Jennet, Madame Giry is being devilish with all the extra practice. My feet are more sore than they have ever been."

Her soft silky voice called from within the steamy chamber, the host's head protruding from the cracked door. Soft sea green irises contracted as she stared out into the harsh light of Jennet's bedchamber, searching the room for the older woman's presence. Curls of voluminous strawberry blonde hair were piled on her skull, tied up with various ribbons and pins. Anika was a very calm person, and her light and airy voice reflected that. Her simple features were a thing of beauty, a soft jaw line tracing her profile crisply. Anika's nose was small and prim, almost pixy-like in appearance.

"Oh Anika, anytime darling. We both know she is merely trying to get us practiced enough to perform on time, albeit, four extra hours is a bit extreme. Enjoy your time in the bath dear, I think we both know you haven't had a good soak in ages."

Jennet answered, her voice rougher but with a twinge of goodhearted merriment. She stepped into Anika's view, and the younger girl smiled through the cracked door. Taking in Jennet's familiar form she almost basked at the fact it was known to her. The girl was not used to having someone to look to in hard times -due to a rather rough upbringing. Jennet was thin and muscular, and her corsets transformed her into a stunning creature of a woman. She had a dark complexion, and straight waist-length hair. Her dark chestnut locks were often unbound, and it suited her free-spirited attitude towards things in general. Jennet did not look to a man, at least not yet. She thought herself too young for such complications of marriage and child rearing; she was at her physical peak! Being almost thirty years of age, many people disagreed, but she turned her noses up at them. Who knew her better than herself? Anika was quite used to such attitude, and she loved everything about Jennet. She was the mother Anika never had.

"Can you tell already? Do I smell that horrible?"

The younger woman asked with raised eyebrows, sometimes unable to distinguish when Jennet was joking. Pausing to hope she didn't actually reek, the blonde-headed lass sighed happily as Jennet assured her that her comment was merely a joke.

Anika drew back into the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Turning around and inhaling deeply, she smiled to herself. Warm bathwater would calm her nerves and ease her sore feet. Walking over to the deep basin and hanging her robe on the hook, Anika slowly eased herself into the steaming water. It was a welcome sensation, and immediately her bruised feet went numb. Laying back her head on the porcelain tub, the woman was grateful Jennet had such high standing within the opera house. She was an expert ballerina, and had quite a lovely bathroom. More than once Anika had taken it as refuge in hard times, and now qualified as quite the hard time.

It was a few mere years after the great 'disaster', and it was no lie to say the opera house had changed hands relatively quickly after the infamous opera ghost set it aflame. The new manager was a steady fellow by the name of Monsieur Jezime, tall and muscular to boot. Jennet had actually swooned over him and his thick head of 'luscious black hair' (her words of coarse) but stopped after she was informed that he was married. And had children. She had received this bit of warning from a very flustered Madame Giry, angered that Jennet was not giving her all in her practices.

Back to more important matters. Jezime had wasted no time returning theinfamous Paris Opera House into a thing of great beauty once more. Almost all of the stagehands, dancers, and singers had retired from the business after the disaster, and he had the task of finding an entirely new crew in a very short time.

To say the least, he had a tough job. Thankfully, Madame Giry had stayed with her daughter Meg. The jittery conductor had offered to keep up work, but after a few weeks it was evident he would not be able to. Every time a loud noise echoed into his orchestra pit, he would have quite an emotional fit. Monsieur Jezime kindly offered him a permanent vacation, which he reluctantly took. Not surprisingly, the Vicomte De Chagny quickly sped away with Miss Daae, his family giving up their patronage. Carlotta left in a flurry of mangled French and Spanish, enraged by the fact no one had caught the opera ghost responsible for the death of her Piangi.

Now, with only a mediocre star by the name of Lenora Caruso, Monsieur Jezime needed to act quickly if he hoped audiences would still come and attend his operas. The future looked bleak, but Anika was being paid relatively well, and she was satisfied with the career of a dancer. If nothing else kept her on, the great privileges of being Jennet's false daughter would keep her in vicinity of the theater.

Slipping down into the tub until she was completely submerged, Anika opened her eyes and watched the water play above her. Her breath bubbled and leaked from her lips, surfacing quickly. Coming up for air if not quicker, the young woman tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear. As of yet, the opera ghost had not made another appearance. Many thought him dead, but Anika knew better. At least, she wished better. Now the sort of opera he wrote was more popular and she feared for her future if he did not contribute some of his genius works.

Only time would tell…

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**(Chapter Fin.**

**So.. how'd you like? Review please.)**


	2. Prima Donna

_Chapter two: Prima Donna_

Jennet had come into her bathroom early the next day with a cheery attitude. She had merely wanted her lotion, but she got a horrid surprise. Looking over to the tub, her eyes widened with shock. Anika was fast asleep, the chilled water beginning to turn her skin a deathly shade of blue. Gasping for the dear lord, she had rushed in and wrapped the poor girl in her robe, picking up the thin 17 year old and rushing Anika into her main chamber. Her entire body was icy and shivering, and she didn't wake when Jennet had tried to rouse her. Wrapping Anika in warm blankets and checking for a pulse, the older woman disappeared out the door in the swish of skirts.

"Dear God, dear God! We need a doctor! A doctor!"

She yelled, her voice reverberating around the corridor as she hurried down the flight of stairs leading to her room. Running through various corridors and hallways, she finally emerged onto the stage. It was the wee hours of the 'morn, but already there was a bustle of activity. Stopping just short of center stage, her eyes were racing around as she tried to find someone helpful. The Prima Donna had been mid scale, and her voice cracked as her attention was drawn away from the maestro. Slapping her hands to her side angrily, she eyed Jennet through a layer of eyemakeup. The Dancer glared back, finally giving up and voicing her problem.

"Help! There is a deathly ill dancer in my chambers, someone call a doctor!"

Jennet exclaimed, her long dark hair falling into her face. Her chest heaving and clothes mussed; no doubt she looked a lunatic. A few other gazes shifted over to her, adding to that of an enraged Lenora Caruso. Breathing loudly to return the attention to her, the Prima Donna turned her piercing hazel eyes to be trained on the seasoned ballerina.

Lenora was quite viperous, a diva of the largest scale. She had a body sent from heaven, curves every woman only dreamed of. At least… she used to. Now she had gained quite a bit of weight, accustoming herself to the life of a Prima Donna. Obviously no one had told her that to remain a beautiful you must not sit on your lazy ass and yell at various people trying to help you.

"Why, might I ask,"

She said venomously, her gaze narrowing and thinly sculpted eyebrows pulling into a frown. She was dressed in finery, a red satin gown with a black lace corset, although it did basically nothing for her form. Now it was as if someone could positively drown in her cleavage; and it wasn't flattering in the least bit. Jennet was stunning and radiant without trying, but Lenora tried much too hard. Taking in breath and exhaling it in an absurd over-exaggerated sigh, the signora continued to rant.

"Do you find it necessary to interrupt my warm-up with such useless information? I am rehearsing! My voice will bring this opera out of disfavor, and one measly dancer can be sacrificed for such importance."

Placing her hand on her hip, the Prima Donna pointed her pudgy finger accusingly at Jennet. The dancer inhaled so quickly her chest heaved, then she stamped her foot on the ground and tried to interject. No one could successfully achieve that, and Jennet was a fool to try. Sure enough, Lenora continued as if without interruption, throwing a wild and absurd accusation.

"Do you wish to know that the downfall of the Opera Populaire is on your shoulders!"

Her scornful words were shrugged off like an old coat as Jennet face flushed red in fury. The woman marched forward with her fists clenched, shouting curses and obscenities in a shrill voice. It would be an understatement to say the air was not thick with tension. Stagehands rushed around in the rafters, cocking their heads to catch every insult. Groggy ballerinas awoke instantly, rushing forward on point and trying to suppress anxious whispers. Drama concerning Jennet and Lenora was a very hot topic for gossip around the theater.

"You utterly unmanageable woman! How can you merely dismiss the life of Anika Geovinna because your pompous ass didn't like being interrupted with a more important thing that your own 'supposed' talent? You are a horrible singer; all of this opera house knows it! You evil wretch, just wait until I get my hands on-"

Just as Jennet had gotten within a foot of Lenora, the unmistakable voice of Madame Giry interrupted them from downstage. She was calm as always, and held such authority over the entire opera that everyone listened.

"The doctor is here."

Antoinette Giry said tranquilly, a twinge of resentment lingering around the edges of her voice. One hand was on her cane and the other gripping the bewildered opera house doctor. Her all black attire had not changed for today, and seemed very fitting for the circumstances. Madame Giry could not have known there would be potentially fatal melodrama in the Opera House this very ordinary morning.

"While you two were trading ugly words, someone helpful called for him! Now come before I lose an important ballerina. Lord only knows I can't afford that loss."

Leading the way, Madame Giry stormed off with Doctor Kellier in tow. Jennet followed without a word, casting a glare at Lenora that signaled revenge. The Prima Donna scowled, yelling at her maids and storming offstage. No doubt Monsieur Jezime would have quite a lot to deal with when he came in for work.

As the trio hurried up the stairs that led to Jennet's chambers, Dr. Keiller pulled out in front and held up his medical bag. Skipping every second stair as he rushed up the winding staircase, the doctor's boots clicked on the cold hard metal.

"Step lively you two. I must see how Anika is doing!"

The man reached the top, throwing open the doors to Jennet's room and rushing to the bedside. Anika was settled in a cocoon of blankets, the tip of her nose a warm red color. The fire in the hearth was slowly warming her chilled body, and the doctor unwrapped her carefully. Seeing her naked form, he turned to Jennet and arched an eyebrow.

"What were you two doing?"

He questioned suspiciously, the fringes of white hair around his bald skull untidy and mussed from the run up the stairs. The dancer scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and bringing down her fist angrily.

"Not whatever you are thinking you sick man! She was taking a bath in my bathingroom, and she fell asleep in the tub. I found her like that, now get on with your inspection! We can't have her die while you think dirty thoughts."

The doctor waved his hand in the air, ignoring Jennet's scolding before he turned back to Anika and performed various simple tests on her. Madame Giry stayed silently in the shadows; her arms crossed and wrinkles lining her face. She suddenly looked very old. Albeit, too much stress on one woman would do that.

Dr. Keiller had known at once that there was something wrong with the girl. She was not responding at all, but he was apprehensive to inspect her further with Jennet in the room. A doctor had to take certain liberties, and an overprotective mother-figure was not a good ingredient in that mix. Turning to them and reaching in his bag, he quietly asked them to leave.

"Madams? Some privacy please?"

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**(A/N: It's been edited. What do you think guys? )**


	3. Two Dancers Lost

_Chapter three: Two dancers lost_

Jennet had to be assured and reassured that no harm would come to her little Anika. The girl was like a daughter to her, and she looked after her likeno one else ever would. Anika was relatively young to be off on her own, but with such a complicated childhood, Jennet was not surprised that she had opted for that lifestyle. To put it bluntly, she was a mistake. Daughter to a common street whore and one of her many customers, the lady simply was not brought up to be a mother. She had tried, or at least, that was what Anika had told her. When she came to the opera house to train as a young ballerina, Jennet had begun to look after her. It was quite a time of trial and error, but now the two had each other figured out quite well.

After a brief chat with the doctor, Jennet and Madame Giry stepped over the threshold. The door behind them was shut rather forcefully, and Jennet began to pace. She'd take five steps right, then turn around and take five steps the other way. Her dark emerald skirts were flipping around her legs; swishing to break the anxious silence. She didn't like that doctor one bit. What was to become of her little Anika?

Madame Giry sighed and leaned up against the wall, covering her face with one slim hand. Her cane was clasped at her side, the plain ball ornament clasped firmly beneath the digits. Taking a deep breath, she watched Jennet for a moment before reaching out and grasping her arm gently.

"Madame, you must relax. I'm sure Anika will be just fine."

It was in her nature to sooth and protect, for she was a mother and a teacher. Madame Giry had spoken relaxingly, her fingers lightly encircling Jennet's forearm. The woman stopped moving, and a single tear rolled down her cheeks. She could hold in her worries and apprehension no longer. Collapsing in a fit of sobs, Jennet hung her head in shame and studied the tiles on the floor to keep from crying.

"It's all my fault Madame Giry. I forgot to check on her before I retired for the night. If she passes on, how will I ever be able to forgive myself?"

Hot wet tears stained her face, falling onto her bosom in pools of salty terror. Madame Giry's eyebrows raised in surprise at the meltdown, and she quickly dropped down to console Jennet. She had no idea the girl meant so much to her! It was as if a part of her was in there on the bed, frightened and horribly alone. Jennet had always been so fiery in nature, independent and fierce. This was so completely out of character.

"Now now darling, you are not to be held accountable. It would never be your fault."

Jennet merely looked up with watery eyes, shaking her head before once again downing herself in sobs. Encircling the weeping woman in her arms, Antoinette Giry whispered soothingly into her hair. Everything would be aright; it would be good in the end. Jennet tried to soften her sobs, but to no avail. There would be no rest until Anika was well again. No rest at all.

xXx

Placing his stethoscope in its carrying case, the Dr. Keiller shook his head sadly. Wrapping Anika back up in the blankets and feeding the fire, he walked slowly and dolefully to the door. There was no denying this woman's condition. When one sat in cold water for hours on end, this was the inevitable result.

Opening the heavy wooden doors carefully, he walked out and closed them once more. Madame Giry and Jennet were off the floor, now standing worriedly up against the wall in the outside corridor. As the doctor emerged, they hurried forward with dim hope in their eyes. It was all but diminished by the time they reached his side, seeing the defeated look on his face.

"I'm afraid your friend has Pneumonia."

He said coldly, his eyes trained to look past Jennet. He couldn't bear to see the sorrow in those watery pools of tawny brown, no matter how much he disfavored her. Handing Jennet a vial of foul looking liquid, he carefully explained the instructions and dosage.

"Give this to her every third hour, and always with water. Just a spoonful. No milk until she heals. When she starts to get better, keep her bedridden. That means no dancing. Here's my number if her condition worsens, let's hope to God it doesn't."

Slipping her a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it, the weary old man made his way for the stairs. It was very obvious he was trying hard not to get too personal. Anika had looked heaven-sent lying there so peacefully on the bed, her reddish golden locks tumbling down over her chest. Woe to he who had to give such dismal news. To be truthful, Dr. Keiller looked very depressing in his tweed suit, all his confidence gone as the wind on a stormy day. Just as he was beginning to descend the stairs, he whispered one last thing.

"I'm dreadfully sorry."

This was no help to Jennet. Her face grew ridged and the paper crumpled in her hand. Stony faced and on the verge of tears, she drew herself up with every last drop of pride. Striding for the door to her chambers and slamming it hard, her racking sobs and dismal tears could be plainly heard through the wood. Madame Giry watched sadly, slipping into the shadows as she realized she had lost two dancers that day. Jennet would not dance until Anika was well… that much was clearly apparent.

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**(A/N: Alright, another edited chapter. Give me praise! I feel so porud of myself. )**


	4. Morphine Dreams

**(A/N: Chapters 1-7 have been updated. I'd love to get more reviews and see if any of you prefer the new chapters!)**

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_Chapter four: Morphine Dreams_

He was a fallen idol to some, a happily forgotten menace to others. He was lonely. It was inevitable.

How he wished to return to the glorious days of spring, when all he had to do relieve himself of so much pain was wait for nightfall. He always had Christine. She listened and obeyed her angel. So many years he had poured into that strong healthy bond, nurturing it and watching it grow. He couldn't wait for that day when he would finally reveal himself to his angel. Looking back, he should have dreaded it.

It had been so perfect. She had seen his lavish home, even laid on the same bed he slumbered on every night. The sheets had still smelled of her beauty many hours of darkness after she had gone. It had been a hopeless cause, for he had made one fatal mistake. He had taken the position of father, nurturer and protector. What woman in her right mind would give up her body to her sire? None.

This was no longer the all-powerful all-knowing opera ghost from the Opera Populaire's glory days. No perfect wig covered his hair; in fact, it was dirty and matted with layers of grease and grime. It hung limply around his face, for he hadn't given a care to try and clean it. No stark white porcelain mask covered his deformity. He had no need to hide it any longer. So far under the opera he had moved, that if it were not for the slight glimmer of a few begotten candles, complete and total darkness would engulf his dreary home… If one could even call it that.

More like a prison.

Slowly and carefully he filled the needle, sure not to overdose himself again. That had been a night from hell --worse than all the hopeless daydreams and mirages of his lost angel tormenting him. Holding the syringe up to check the amount, he nodded wearily before inserting the plunger into the barrel.

Staring down to his arm with glazed eyes, he watched himself plunge the needle deep into his skin. So many times he had done this before… Black and blue bruises covered the entire surface, very little fresh blood welling from the new puncture. The syringe was his way to escape, drift into a dream and rid himself of problems. However, there was a horrible truth to problems. No matter how many times you fade into a morphine-induced stupor, the problems always returned.

Erik felt no pain. The first injection had been terribly painful. Both mentally and physically. He had to debate with himself; _did he really need this?_ He did. Living down lower than low to escape the burning wreckage, watching as a new slut decided to run his opera. And he didn't have his Christine. She had left, arm in arm with Raoul. How could he have been so wrong?

At first there had been anger. Like a child denied of sweets he had rampaged. His hands and armshad crisscrossing scars from such actions, and he had paid dearly for what weak satisfaction the destruction gave him. It was nothing compared to the lovely euphoria gained by his morphine.

Erik's arm was numb, and had been for at least a month. Soon he would need to start the injections one of his legs if he ever hoped to regain use of the other appendage. Truly it was amazing he had kept this up for as long as he had. Somehow when he came out of the dizzying highs, he could momentarily think as he always had. Remarkable. Erik's mind had always been a bit off-kilter, but to be able to reason? Sometimes even he amazed himself. Sadly ,with the ability of true thought brought memories, and memories brought pain. That's what drove him back to the needle, he almost craved to watch it puncture his skin.

Sitting down on his disgusting cot, tears began to stream down his face. Not yet had the powerful drug caught hold, and now was the moments of ultimate sorrow that preceded the high. Erik's dirty face was covered in a thick layer of grime, interrupted only by the hot wet tears rolling down his face. How could she leave him? How? Back to the sorrow. Luckily he did not get violent as before… Glancing over to his stores of the drug, new louder sobs racked his body. He would soon have to go up and fetch more. How would he ever be able to accomplish that?

Laying his head down on the cot, Erik silently sobbed into the bedding. He was formulating his plan to go up to the surface world, but within moments he felt light and calm, and he closed his eyes to watch the splendor erupting within his skull. Such radiating calmness gripped his body; almost ripping him to pieces with it's beautiful reasoning. _Relax. _He would think about that sorrow later, so much later. Curled up in a ball on a grimy cot, Erik faded from reality. Miles under the opera house in nothing more than a dirty hole, Erik was happy. This was the life he had chosen now, and no one would ever be able to turn him away from the Morphine Dreams.

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**(A/N: Suprsingly, I know very little of the history of drugs. Don't kill me if this didn't exist in that particular time in france. I might have to cry if you do. Or Erik will... inject you with morphine! That's all he's really able to do of right now.)**


	5. Misplaced Regret

**(A/N to VagrantCandy: **Thank you so much for the review! To be truthful, I only have a vague idea where this is going. I was tired of reading phics where the female lead always ended up with Erik on the most ordinary of circumstances. I mean, come on. He's a deformed man living under an opera house, how is that in anyway shape or form ordinary? And also thank you for the information. I really had no idea what sort of drugs they would have had in that time period, and I really appreciate hearing facts.

**To LovesForgotten: **Thank you for the review! That isn't quite the way I was going to have it happen, but a very good idea. Surprising how similar my idea is to yours, but you were just a little off. Keep reading, I hope you enjoy the story, and I really appreciate the input.

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_Chapter five: Misplaced Regret _

"Anika? Darling? Can you hear me?"

The voice was soft, as though muffled through a blanket. The girl on the bed flinched at the sound, her muscles tightening as she clenched her fists. Anika felt so utterly tired. More than once Jennet had tried to get her to speak, but she just couldn't manage. The pain around her neck was like a vice, squeezing her throat shut as she tried to breathe. Swallowing was even worse. Anika had to try and relax the various uncontrollable muscles, letting whatever liquid Jennet gave her simply run down her throat.

Wearily Anika opened her eyes, squinting through the sunlight streaming in her window. She looked as if a wave of weakness had come and washed over her, stealing away all of her color and leaving her a shadow of her former self. Anika's reddish golden hair was plastered to her head, her breathing light and raspy. Her face was pale as she stared up to the worried form of Jennet sitting on the bed with her.

Nodding her head weakly, she tried to force a smile to grace her lips. Jennet saw Anika trying to please, and she smiled in return. She parted her lips only a bit as she spoke, afraid that all her worries and anxieties would tumble out if she were to speak any louder.

"Don't worry dear, I know it must hurt to talk."

Hurt? She didn't know the half of the pain it caused. It was as if needles were drilling into the tender muscles, pinpricks of a pain so deep it made your insides roil. Reaching out to Jennet, Anika's arm swayed at the exertion. She wanted her to know she appreciated the care she was receiving.

Jennet took Anika's hand in her own, stroking the back of her smooth appendage gently. Her hand was like fire, burning into Jennet's skin as she quirked an eyebrow I surprise. Taking her palm to Anika's forehead, she scowled over to the great grandfather clock sitting by the doorway. No wonder she was so warm, it was nearly nine --time for another dose. Her eyes began to water as she stared at the radiant young woman so weak, but she soothingly whispered words of calming.

"We'll get some more medicine in you, and you'll be good as new. Just hush darling, and relax."

Reaching over to the bedside table, Jennet grabbed the small basin sitting there. She removed the washcloth soaked in water from the depths of the bowl, placing it lovingly on Anika's forehead. Next she palmed the vial of liquid, spooning a bit into Anika's waiting mouth. She followed with a sip of water, all the while reassuring her it would be aright.

Anika wanted to spit both liquids out, her eyes watering at the unwelcome sensation in her throat. No matter how cooling the water had meant to be, it felt no better than a white-hot poker shoved in her mouth hole. Clenching her jaw to refuse any other offerings, Anika tried to smile through the pain.

Jennet patted her on the head, whispering a few I'm sorrys before Anika frowned at her. It was not her fault, why was she sorry? To be truthful, Jennet was not only trying to hide the fact she wasn't positive that everything would be fine in the end. Anika had been sick for a very long while, and every time she had awoken it would only be a matter of time before she grew feverish again. What would happen when the medicine ran out? Jennet did not know. Reaching over for a bowl of broth, she heard a moan of rejection come from Anika's direction.

The womanput down the bowl and eyed Anika, nodding her head in a defeated manner. She had realized it would be painful to even be around the young one while she was sick, but nothing compared to watching the fits of agony cross Anika's face. However long it took for her to get well again, Jennet was sure to be there. Madame Giry had been understanding at first, but Jennet had quite a large part in the opera. She wasn't making it to practices, and the way it looked now she wouldn't even make it for the first show.

The only thing left to do was wait on all their parts. And hope.

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**(A/N: Another edited chapter! I'd like to thank my brother Greg for editing, and my friend Katie for the support she has given me with the tireless plot ideas I have thrown at her for review. YEY FOR MY NEW BETA! Thanks for your help guys.)**


	6. Pitiful Guest

**(A/N: Hullo there everyone! I hope you've enjoyed the story thus far. All the reviews have been appreciated greatly! It's a good thing I got them when I did, because I was beginning to get a bit discouraged.**

**To Shell**: hullo dahl! I'll be sure to keep writing. It's good to know someone is enjoying this.

**To dkuhs: **Not too many of the original cast will be in here, at least I hadn't planned it that way. Who knows, maybe I'll throw them in later. After seeing more than just two people are reading this, I'll be sure to continue!

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_Chapter six: Pitiful Guest_

'Twas a late night; a very tiresome night. The new manager of the Opera Populaire was walking down the great staircase, quite ready to get home to his wife and children. After a day of tireless arguing with his mediocre Spanish diva, he had finally managed to assure her that Jennet's remark was not true in the least bit. Truthfully, he had to look down at the floor when saying that. Jezime had a horrible liar. He had hoped to have a word with the dancer in privet, but Madame Giry had informed him that the woman wouldn't leave her chambers for fear of young Miss Geovinna's life.

That was a story within itself. The ill dancer. It was a shame really -she was such a pretty little thing. From Jennet's reports, she hadn't recovered in the least bit yet. Madame Giry had visited only once, and she was disappointed to see that Anika wasn't even out of bed yet. Antoinette had reluctantly given up Miss Geovinna's part to another dancer, for she supposed the girl was not going to recover. A serious waste of talent.

Placing his black hat on his head and flipping up the collar on his coat, Monsieur Jezime sighed to himself. Stopping to view the breathtaking glory of the grand staircase in moonlight, he placed his hands in his coat pockets and yawned. What time was it anyway? Checking his watch leisurely, he read the time aloud.

"Seven past eleven.. What a day what a day."

Placing the timepiece back in his pocket, he shook his head before turning to walk out the door. His carriage had been called five minuets ago, but he knew the driver wouldn't be here for another three. Not only was hismanor a bit of a distance away, the driver was young and inexperienced. He hadn't quitelearned the motto, "time is money", as of yet.

Why expose himself to the chilly night air? Glancing around at the various paintings on the walls, he tried to amuse himself. Sadly, it was in vain. He had no interest in them. Now the large naked women sprawled about the place --that was another matter entirely... Suddenly he heard a groan behind him, and turned to see a suspicious looking man slumped on one of the banisters of the staircase.

"Monsieur? May I help you?"

He asked in an authoritative voice, taking a few halfassed steps forward before deciding to find out more about this man lest he continue on. The figure was dressed in a ratty black suit, a gray woolen traveling cloak thrown over his shoulders. The hood on the cloak was oversized, and was placed over his head -thus cloaking the man's identity in shadow. Tricky indeed. Jezime was wrought with a sense of undying curiosity.The man groaned again, a melancholy sound of pain. Clasping both hands to the banister, he moaned before pitching forward down the stairs.

Monsieur Jezime gasped, rushing to the man's side. He had collapsed at the bottom of the stairs with a nasty cracking sound, one of his legs was bent at an awkward angle, and his bruised arm revealed.

"Sir! Oh my God, oh my God!"

The manager cried, collapsing in a couch at his side. Looking at the hideous arm, he bit back a gag of disgust.It was utterly hideous!Jezime tried to reach out and take the hood off the man's face, but his hand was knocked out of the air as the man growled a name under his breath.

"Giry. Get me Giry."

Pulling back his arm and trying to stand, the man wheezed dreadfully. He was held down by Monsieur Jezime who urgently reassured him he would get the ballet mistress.

"Don't move. You might hurt yourself further. I will go get Madame Giry, please please stay put!"

Standing and rushing off towards Madame Giry's chambers, his boots clicked loudly on the tiled floors. Reaching her door relatively quickly, he knocked loudly. His heavy breathing could be heard through the wood, and she answered with a satin robe over her sleeping gown. Seeing the desperation in his eyes, she followed without question. As the pair hurried to the lobby of the opera however, she tried to get some answers.

"What has happened Monsieur? Was there another accident?"

They rushed around a corner, Madame Giry's slippers making a dull patter on the floors. When he struggled for an answer, she placed her hand delicately on his shoulder.

"Monsieur, please tell me."

The manager waved her hand off, quickening his pace to reach their destination. He did not want to try and explain. Besides, he hardly knew why he was bending over backwards for this mystery man. There was something in his tone that commanded respect, as if he were famous. Pointing a finger at Madame Giry, Jezime growled an answer under his breath.

"He asked for you. Just wait until we get there, your quest for answers will get you nowhere with me."

Madame Giry's eyes widened at the mention of a he, but she questioned Jezime no more. Could it possibly be him, the man she had not seen since the great disaster? For some reason her mind and heart soared, but at the same time she knew it was not him. He would never show himself to the new manager in the wide open opera lobby. Besides, why would he ask her assistance now? In the middle of the night?

Monsieur Jezime grabbed her by the hand and pushed her forward into the lobby gently. Madame Giry looked upon the man sprawled at the base of the stairs with caution, then placed her hand over her mouth.. One word escaped, echoing around the large room with a surprised twinge in her heavy accent.

"ERIK!"

* * *

**(A/N: What a horribly suspenseful way to end a chapter, no? I love to do that! Mwahaha. Review please! The more I get, the more I am inspired. I'm sure the next chapter will be heavy with Giry-scoldings.)**


	7. Try to Forget

**(A/N: to Charity:** Thanks for the review. I'm sure there will be heated words between Madame Giry and Erik, as for Anika, well, you'll just have to wait and see!

**VagrantCandy:** Not what you were expecting? Perfect! That's just what I'd hoped. I do wish, however, that you aren't disappointed with it. However much I like to surprise, I like to please just as much, if not better.

**LovinRKO:** Thank you for the review! The plot is what I'm working really hard on. I'm not quite sure what all is going to happen, but I have a vauge idea. I hope it's not too unbelievable, that's what I was trying to avoid. And that's great to hear you are thinking about writing a phic! Just take the story down a path it hasn't been before, and I think you'll do great. I'll watch for it and R&R. squeal! I just saw this is one of your favorite stroies! I'm so flattered.

**By the way, if anyone has any good plot ideas, please e-mail them to me. It's musingmynah at yahoo. Com. No spaces of coarse. Also, you will get full credit if I decide to use them.)**

* * *

_Chapter seven: Try to Forget_

What Madame Giry had now was an intense mental struggle. The Phantom of the Opera was lying quite helpless on the bottom of the grand staircase, and she had a frantic manager prowling and pacing behind her. She had rushed to Erik's side and checked his pulse, pulling back her hand as he groaned in agony. Was this what the infamous opera ghost had been reduced to? He had looked even better when he was held captive by the damn gypsies!

"What have you done to yourself?"

She cried out in disbelief, her gaze centered on his horribly mangled leg and then his battered arm. Truthfully, she already knew. Madame Giry had seen cases of this before with the stagehands. Erik was addicted to some drug or another. Really it was pitiful. She had always thought Erik to be strong of mind, however warps his senses of right and wrong had been. Christine must have meant so much more to him that she had suspected. Shaking her head sadly and gesturing for Monsieur Jezime to come closer, she whispered to the fallen angel sadly.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

The manager stopped in his pacing, his eyebrows pulled down low as he scowled at the man. Another accident! Just what this hell house needed. He had never known Antoinette's history, or where her little daughter had come from, so of coarse he was suspicious. Casting a stare deep into the voids the made up Madame Giry's eyes, he watched the shadows cast from her strong brow.

"Who is this man? I presume you know him? Let me tell you right now we have no time to waste on relationship problems! If you want to be a part of this opera-"

Madame Giry scowled -her eyes icy cold. It stopped Jezime in his rant, and he looked at her suspiciously. Before he could continue she quietly and evenly scolded him for such brash thoughts.

"Monsieur, I of all people would not be endangering this opera house. It is my life. He is just an old friend, and I need you to help me convey him to my quarters."

Her calm voice echoed slightly on the marble floors, reverberating onto the domed ceiling in a mass of undistinguishable gibberish. She was greatly offended he would think such irrational nonsense of her and her past, but she realized it was partly her fault. If she wasn't so privet about it, there would be no room for speculation.

"I see."

Was all he said in reply, taking off his coat and hat. Placing them carefully on the stairs, he approached Erik and hoisted him into his arms. It was not difficult in the least bit. Erik had been so concerned with his precious morphine, that food was no longer a priority. On the sporadic moments hen he was not high, he would take in whatever he could find ferociously; eating a diet made up of various small things he could manage to steal unnoticed.

To say the least, he was emaciated. Every bone in his body showed through his skin, his ribs easily countable. If one could see his face, they would cringe in disgust. His cheekbones threatened to burst through his taut leathery skin, his deformity infected and covered in grime and dirt. His eyes seemed to have sunken into his skull, and his eyelids were almost transparent. Thankfully, his hood covered the entire affair satisfactorily; however, the infamous opera ghost was in a sorry state.

Monsieur Jezime picked him up as he would a child, a tall thin sickly child. Erik had lost no height in his desperation to escape reality, so he was almost skeletal in appearance. Jezime gagged at the man's horrid stench, but followed Madame Giry to her room without protest. Only once did he try and peer under the hood, but he felt so horribly guilty that he did not repeat the action. He had seen nothing, and little did he know he was carrying the man who had haunted the walls of this theater for too many manager generations to count.

xXx

The trip to Madame Giry's chambers was a horrible awkward silence, the creaking of the large building the only break in the deathly stillness. As they reached her room, she dug in her robe for the key. Quietly unlocking the door, she motioned for Jezime to hand her Erik's limp form. He cocked an eyebrow, whispering as to not disturb her sleeping daughter.

"Are you sure you can take him?"

He asked cautiously. Erik was not heavy, but slightly awkward to carry because of his long limbs. Antoinette nodded solemnly, holding out her arms as Monsieur Jezime settled the unconscious man in her grip.

"I think it would be best if no one else knew of this Jezime. I shall see that he improves in health, and it will not take any time away from my ballet teachings. Now I believe you have a carriage to catch. Good night."

Monsieur Jezime nodded and his eyes narrowed into slits. Something was being hidden from him. However suspicious he was, bad publicity was the absolutely worst thing that could happen to this opera house right now. Madame Giry had full advantage in this situation, and she had wielded it effectively. Turning around deep in thought, he walked back towards the opera lobby.

Upon reaching the cavernous entryway, he almost shrieked in surprise. There was another man standing in the foyer of his theater! Since when was this a popular midnight party spot on off nights! Clasping his hand to his heart, and sighed in relief realizing it was only his carriage driver. Philipe turned around at the muffled gasp that had come from his employer, Monsieur Jezime's coat and hat in his hand.

"Are you alright Sir? I saw your things and was sure something terrible had happened!"

He spoke with a concern only large sums of money and precious relationships could attain. This of coarse was the former, but why get hung up on petty details? Jezime shook his head hurriedly, grabbing for his coat and stuffing his arms into it. Normally he would be happy with the questions, but this was just not the night for it. Philipe handed him his hat with a look of distrust clouding his features, but it was gone before Jezime would notice.

"I'm fine. Just get me home quickly."

Jezime said without emotion, pulling at the inside of his coat pocket anxiously. Thank the Lord Philipe was not a talkative man during the driving part of the voyage. The manager was sure he would've ended up spilling the entire story if he had been. Walking briskly out the large over-decorated doors to the theater; Monsieur Jezime tried to forget all that had happened. It would only cause un-necessary worry, and he already had a mediocre Spanish diva to do that. Flipping up his collar as the frosty night air nipped at his unprotected flesh, he sighed deeply.

_What a night what a night._

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**(A/N: I think I'll stop here and save the Giry-scoldings for the next few chapters. I love reviews! Yey! I really wasn't expecting to get _any!_ Thanks guys! Keep them coming, and please don't be afraid to be critical. That's how someone gets better as a writer. )**


	8. Temporary Abode

**(A/N to VagrantCandy: **Good to hear you liked it. I've been busy with… various things lately, but I'll be sure to keep updating as soon as I can type things out.

**to Katiecee:** My Katie! This my friends, is my new beta. Give her a round of applause! Yey! Thank you dahling for all your help and I might have to take you up on that last offer. –wiggly eyebrow-

**to LovinRKO:** I was looking back right before I got this review and thought the same thing. Now all of the chapters are at least 1000 words long, and have more detail overall. Thanks for trying to point out what needed work!

**to charity: **You liked the chapter? That's great! Thanks for the review, and I'll be sure to keep writing.

* * *

_Chapter eight: Temporary Abode _

Madame Giry stood outside her unlocked door, carefully contemplating her dilemma. She couldn't keep a drug-dependant opera ghost in her room, for Meg had recently given up board in the dormitories to sleep in the rooms with her mother. Obviously the fact that a strange man lived under the building she called home was a bit disturbing, and meeting the person face to face probably wouldn't help. Meg had begun to have horrible nightmares after the accident, and the other dancers were more than judgmental. As strict as Madame Giry was, she couldn't just stand by and watch such abuse happen.

Shaking her head and inhaling deeply, Antoinette ran through her other options. The infirmary wasn't the place either. All they needed now was a gaggle of frightened nurses -that would surely help them rise back to success. Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, Madame Giry stared at the hood covering Erik's face. It was a pity really. He was truly a genius, and she only wished the world would accept him. Suddenly an idea eked its way into her mind, and she spun around to face the opposite direction. Jennet!

There really was no better option. She was trustworthy, and had a room of her own. Besides, she was already nursing Anika. How much harder would it be to see that Erik didn't sneak off to buy more of whatever he was on? Many different situations flashed though her skull as she slowly made her way towards the staircase to Jennet's room. There would be a few problems…

Jennet was such a fiery individual, set in her ways and passionate about her beliefs. When people were around her, she suddenly became boss of the situation. No question about it. Erik however, was much like a spoiled young child. With no mother to nurture him, he hadn't learned compassion. With no father to teach respect and discipline, he became a man without morals. Socially, he was still a toddler. This would be Jennet's worst nightmare. Having to live around a person who always had to have his own way… or else… while she was so accustomed to having her own. It would be a clash of the titans.

Reaching the base of the winding metal staircase, somehow Madame Giry felt she was rising to meet something formidable. What on earth would she say if Jennet refused? By now Erik was growing heavy, his slight weight deadening all sensation in her forearms. Even in his emaciated state, he was still a very large man. Monsieur Jezime hadn't been dishonest about the awkwardness of carrying a man taller than yourself.

Walking up the stairs was even harder, and she felt immensely guilty for hitting Erik's head on a few rungs of the railing. The man was unconscious; he felt nothing, but Madame Giry still was uncomfortable abusing him even the slightest bit. So many others had done what could not be undone by the constant abuse… Walking carefully to the door and re-arranging Erik's limp form, his head ended up buried in her shoulder. She felt as though she was carrying some sort of a frightened infant… only not. No infant was addicted to morphine.

Madame Giry knocked softly, her knuckles hitting the smooth grain of the wood. She stood there for a moment before knocking again, a bit louder this time. She could see the light under the door, and knew Jennet was there. Why wasn't she answering?

"Jennet! Please come to the door."

She called urgently, her hand pulling at Erik's traveling cloak to better cover his form. It wouldn't do to frighten the dancer before she even asked if he could stay. Madame Giry heard rustling from behind the door, and her heart began to pound. How was this going to play out? A groggy figure cracked peered out of the room, her eyes narrowed into slits. Realizing who she was seeing, Jennet opened the door wide and welcomed Madame Giry in.

"Antoinette, what brings you here at such hour?"

Eyeing the large gray form she was carrying, it took only a few moments for the overpowering stench to reach her nose. Immediately speaking up, Jennet pointed at the mass and scowled. Her voice rang in outrage, and she wrinkled up her nose in disgust.

"What in heaven's name is that!"

Anika stirred in her sleep at the loud noise, and Jennet inwardly slapped herself. She couldn't wake the precious sleeping beauty! Madame Giry on the other hand, had completely forgotten how rank Erik smelled. Wincing, she shifted him from one shoulder to the other.

"Please, you must understand.. he's-"

Madame Giry had gotten nothing out before Jennet threw up her hands, walking over to one of the armchairs by the hearth and settling in to its cushions. Before crossing her arms over her chest, she motioned for Madame Giry to take the chair opposite her.

"Put him on the daybed. I have a feeling we have a bit of a chat in store."

xXx

"This is Erik. Believe it or not, you know him very well."

Madame Giry had set the man in her arms comfortably onto the bed, wrapping his traveling cloak around him for the time being. She could see the soft rise and fall of his chest, and a grim smile settled into her features.

Jennet shook her head, peering over to the bundle and arching an eyebrow.

"I can't even see this mysterious Erik. I don't know him at all."

Madame Giry folded her hands in her lap, a vacant look passing across her face. She said the next few words with unnatural calmness, and for a moment the words didn't even register in Jennet's mind.

"Angel of Music. Opera Ghost. A Phantom of sorts."

She paused and looked over to Jennet, whose eyes had grown large with horror. So many things crossed her mind at once, it was like a explosion of colors and sounds. A crystal chandelier, the smooth clear voice of a young ballerina, two bodies twined in an embrace so true it was sickening. And then screams. Nothing but torture.

"He's there… the Phantom of the Opera."

Jennet's voice cracked halfway through, her eyes darting to the motionless form on her daybed. How could that be the deadly voice in the shadows? That _thing_ under the cloak. Her hands shook with horror, and she stole a glance to Madame Giry before standing unsteadily. Each step she took closer to the daybed grew harder, the stench of hot nasty grime and her mind racing as to what she would find almost killing her. Reaching out with her hand and pulling back the woolen cloak, Jennet closed her eyes tight and gagged after her eyes fell over his disgusting features.

"Take that thing out of here!"

The scream resounded around the secluded chambers, her hand pointing at Madame Giry accusingly. The ballet mistress stared her down; her face set in stone. She hated what she was about to do, but it was inevitable.

"You have to take care of him. He's addicted to something, and if I let him go free he will die. Erik was like a child to me, and I need your help."

Jennet threw her hands up to her face, roiling deep inside just knowing that Erik was in her room. The Opera Ghost was laying _on her daybed!_ She shook her head in refusal, hands shaking and eyes streaming tears.

"No."

"Yes! I hate to do this, but if you do not take him in, I shall have to remove both you and Anika from the opera house. Permanently."

Madame Giry's words stung deep inside Jennet's soul, but she had no choice. She would be defiant anyway, however sure she was that Antoinette would win eventually. How could she let this go without a fight! HE WAS THE DAMN OPERA GHOST! Fears bubbled to the surface of her being, knowing what would happen if she failed to make him well. He had killed more than once, he could kill again.

"You evil woman. Leave."

Her voice was strong, however quiet, laced with such malicious attempt that it was a wonder Antoinette didn't erupt into flames at the rearing of the comment. Madame Giry stood up and walked to the door silently, her eyes falling on each member of the room before she opened the door.

"He stays."

She said coldly, not even a question any longer. Stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her, Madame Giry could once again hear the estranged sobs of madness through the door. She had felt bad at first, but it was necessary. Jennet would look after her Erik, and if any harm came to him… There would be hell to pay.

* * *

**(A/N: Well, this was one of the longer chapters. Madame Giry was played way out of character, and I might change that later. Sorry guys, but she needed to be an ass wipe for a little while. This is Erik we're talking about. She didn't pour all that time and effort into him just to have him die of drug addiction. )**


	9. Deserved Illness

**(A/N toVagrant Candy: **The threats were fun to write. –grins- Anywhoodle, don't pity Erik too awful much! Sure he looks really nasty, but he did bring it on himself a bit. Plus, it's not all going to bad for him. –wink-

**To charity:** Oh, I'm sure you're going to –love- this next chapter if you want to find that out that bit of information. I hope the title isn't too much of a giveaway. –winkwink-

**To LovinRKO:** I modeled Jennet after myself in a lot of ways. I mean, come on. Think about it a little bit. If you see a grimy disgusting murder in your bedroom, the last thing you'd want to do was nurse him back to health. I mean, if you didn't understand his past. Jennet sure doesn't. –grins- Trust me, later Erik and Jennet will be butting heads. And I almost feel bad making him so pitiful. –tear- STUPID STUPID JENNET!

**I probably won't be able to update for a while… I'm going to my father's house for the weekend, and I have to work everyday next week but Wednesday. 8am-6pm. Tough hours for a thirteen year old? I think so. –sigh-)**

* * *

_Chapter nine: Deserved Illness _

The task of cleaning Erik had been Jennet's worst nightmare. She didn't even want to touch him, let alone bathe him. Many gaggings and breaks for fresh air had been involved, but eventually she had succeeded. His smell had been worse than his nauseating appearance, and if he was her responsibility…

All the while she had cursed the very ground Madame Giry walked upon, muttering curses and roughly scrubbing Erik's skin without sympathy. He deserved to be unconscious, an unfortunate doll lying limply in her hands. If that bloody Antoinette hadn't threatened to be rid of them, she would have killed Erik right then and there in her bathtub. He was a filthy murderer, emphasis on filthy.

Thinking of Anika, she had refrained. The young woman was walking down the long winding road of recovery, each time she woke managing to keep down food and smile weakly. Jennet had kept Erik far away from the recovering woman, even going so far as to close the curtains around her four-posted bed. She didn't want the living corpse to frighten Anika into a relapse.

Speaking of the vile beast, Erik was situated once again on the daybed. His long legs were hanging off the edge slightly, but Jennet could truly care less. The man hadn't yet awoken from his arrival, and she reluctantly checked for a pulse once an hour. She would walk over solemnly, her hand reaching for his wrist with a slight tremble. As soon as she felt the slight flutter under his cold rough skin on her own, Jennet claimed him living and scurried away from the daybed.

As deeply as Erik was sleeping, he seemed to have woken many times. His eyelids would snap open, only the whites of his eyes showing as his pupils rolled back into his skull. It was as if he was dreaming horrible nightmares; his mouth working wordlessly as his entire body twitched in convulsions. Erik had done this once as Jennet was checking his pulse for the first time, and she had screamed for dear life. Of coarse she did not know what was happening, and when he latched onto her arm she had struggled. Finally escaping his grasp with a heaving bellow, she had collapsed onto her bed beside Anika sobbing into the pillows. What a _waking_ nightmare.

To say the least, Erik was quite the sight for sore eyes. His marred skin was stretched over the bones of his face tight and his cheekbones were prominent against his sunken eyes. Obviously there was not a time that Erik had achieved a healthy complexion, but the ashen look of his skin made him almost corpse-like. Jennet could hardly look at him without feeling she was about to retch, and had begun to avoid the general corner of the room by the daybed and the wide-open window but one dreadful time an hour.

Jennet was beginning to think he would just sleep forever and she wouldn't have to deal with him besides the ridiculous subconscious fits and spasms. No such luck I'm afraid.

xXx

_She was there, his beautiful angel. Clothed in nothing but the purest white, she floated gracefully in the clear clean waters. Her hair was suspended in a halo about her head, gently caressing her ivory skin and rose red lips. They were lips no other had ever touched, never been kiss-roughened and robbed of their beauty. He was there too, but there was no beautiful image to accompany his being. He was simply there, a dark bruise on a seemingly perfect image. He reached to her, his lips parting to release one harmonious word._

_Christine._

_Suddenly her eyelids snapped open; a fire deep as death burning within them. Dark murky mud ascended from the depths, swirling up her robs of white and encasing her in a prison of muck. They pulled her down deep, the water dark as night. He could no longer see his angel, hear her voice, or envision her near him. She was erased permanently from his being, their souls confined in totally different realms. He screamed in agony as he realized there was no purpose to his thoughts. He did not know what he was thinking about, he knew not what wasn't there. It tortured him in its absence, roiling in a subliminal chamber of his mind. She was forever gone, but who was she?_

It was early afternoon, sunlight streaming in the window and casting ghastly shadows over Erik's body. Jennet was just about to give Anika another dose of medication, and the woman was lying in bed with her eyes wide open. Thankfully, she couldn't yet catch sight of Erik, as that side's curtain was drawn shut.

As the clock chimed eleven, Erik sat straight up in bed. Dull gray eyes whipped around the room, as if he couldn't find anything to focus on. He did not know where he was, why there was no darkness clinging to his vision. Turning towards the window, Erik felt his tender face exposed to light for the first time in years. His ear-curdling scream pealed about the chamber as he scrambled off the daybed, streaking towards the cool dark opposite corner. Halfway there, his injured leg gave out, sending the dazed confused man sprawling on the floor. This brought on a painful fit of spasms, and Erik clutched at his stomach moaning in agony.

Jennet had dropped the spoon of medicine at the scream, and was now staring dumbstruck at the man whom had been virtually lifeless the moment before. What was going on? She took a step forward at Erik's groans, hoping to quiet him before Anika would notice. Sadly, it was much too late. She had sat up in bed, crawling towards the curtain as a curious cat would. Jennet could only watch as she pulled back the fabric, her eyes growing large as kettle brims as she watched him struggle.

Mangled and crying, tangled and dieing. Anika stared at the man she hadn't even known was there. Surprisingly, she did not cry out in horror as Jennet had. She seemed enthralled, bringing her feet down to touch the cold hard floor. Slipping down further, the young woman lowered her entire body onto the ground. Weakly she crawled forward; not even wincing as Erik turned his marred skeletal face to hers. Anika looked at him with pity, knowing what horror physical pain had been for her. No longer did her throat burn with agony, but she had yet to give it the ultimate test.

"Who are you?"

She said softly, her voice scratching with disuse. Erik closed his eyes once again, willing her not to look at him. He was a monster. Anika reached for his face regardless of the cold shoulder she was recieving, stroking his unscarred cheek soothingly. He was a pitiful creature, and if Jennet wouldn't help him, she would. Speaking of Jennet, the womanwas still paralyzed with surprise and fear, and her voice caught in her throat as she tried to object.

Erik flinched as Anika stroked his cheek, turning his head around to face the other direction. He was disgusted with what he was about to do, but curled up clutching at his abdomen he could hardly help it. His insides were roiling with pain, and he reluctantly retched all over the floor. The last thing he remembered was a soft smooth hand on his heaving chest and screams of outrage echoing in a rough unattractive voice.

* * *

**(A/N: Read and review please! -grin-)**


	10. Slow Interrupted Recovery

**(A/N to VagrantCandy: **His situation is very sad. I'm an Erik lover, don't get me wrong! He's such a pitiful creature… Thanks for all the reviews you've left me!

**To LovinRKO:** Kill him! Well now, let's not be brash! I love dear Erik. –strokes him- It's good to hear you're in suspense.. my plan is going perfectly to… plan!

**To Dani:** Oh yes. Simply Brilliant. Thanks for the review!

**To Charity:** -shifty eyes- I hope people realize he didn't just throw up for no reason. He's going through withdrawl from morphine. I didn't make that very clear… Oh well. Anywhoodle, this is no Gerry Phantom. I think Gerard Butler is the hottest man alive, but truthfully, he's no phantom. My Erik is all rough lines and jutting movements, his face is –horribly- marred, not just a sunburn of doom. As of now, he's also looking pretty nasty. He's incredibly malnourished. –cringy face- bones being all pokey, and uhh… because of the addiction, his skin and stuff is gross. I think chapter six pretty much sums up his looks.

**To KD:** Thank you for the review dahling! Anika's response is deeper than it appears. You'll learn more in this chapter. Also, It flatters me to be admired! Thank you for the kind words.

**Sorry for the horrid long time it took me to update! Like I said, I've got a very busy schedule. When school starts, it won't be getting any less hectic. -- Darnit. )**

* * *

_Chapter ten: Slow Interrupted Recovery _

The man's face was wet with icy sweat, his skin burning with fever. Long locks of matted brown hair hung limply around his face; his eyelids fluttering as a warm hand gently brushed the hair away from his features. Anika sat beside the mysterious man, having pulled over the chair from the hearth. Her breath was shallow –but steady none the less. She was wrapped in a warm quilt, the material trying to protect her from the bitter wintry chill finding it's way into the secluded room. To be blunt, Anika was not healthy. She was a mere step above the man she was nursing, but she took her responsibilities in stride.

Jennet had all but stopped caring for this stranger, her practices for the new production getting in the way. The young dancer knew how important it was that Jennet was well practiced, and was grateful the woman had nursed her when she was bedridden in the worst part of her illness. It was the least she could do to watch over this unnamed man sharing their quarters, for he really wasn't too much of a bother. Retching and twitching was about all he managed, save for the moans of tortuous agony uttered between fits. Anika hadn't the slightest clue what exactly ailed the man, but she did her best to keep him clean and as fed as possible. The man was swimming in his own skin he was, no meat on his bones.

However, it was the man's face that kept her going. The hope that soon he would be well enough to talk, and she could question him of his history. To be truthful, she found his appearance loathsome and disgusting. It was as if he had been horribly burned, then a wild beast unleashed to claw at his flesh. Simply vile in every aspect. When he had gazed upon his face when she had first come to his aid, something struck her. Something lurking in those eyes… Was it fear? Hatred? Or… could it possibly be the exact opposite. Hope or love? She would just have to wait and see. For now Anika was content to sit by and watch, trying to regain strength and purpose.

xXx

The eve of Sunday night was fast approaching. For seven days the nameless man had slept restlessly, awaking only to empty the contents of his stomach. Nightmares haunted his slumber, such horrible visions none other could even begin to imagine. Each time he tumbled from the daybed with convulsions Anika would get up from her chair and walk slowly and carefully the few steps to his side. She would stroke his face, soothingly placating him as she replaced his body on the daybed. Each day Anika was progressing in strength, but she still could not walk across the room without being short of breath. It was torture to be awake, but unable to move freely. Her mind began to invent a story behind why this man was here, for Jennet had yet to inform her of just who he was.

Really she found it horrid not to even know the name of her patient, but she hadn't the heart to question Jennet. The woman was gone before Anika even woke, and never returned before she fell asleep. It was as if she no longer even entered her quarters. Reaching up to place a strand of golden red hair behind her ear, a knock startled Anika away from her thoughts.

"Hello?"

She called out hesitantly, wondering who was coming in so late. If it were Jennet, she would just come right in. It _was_ her rooms after all. The rapping came again, and Anika stood slowly. It sounded almost frantic; as if someone was only barely restraining himself or herself from barging right in the door. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she hurried forward.

"May I ask who it is?"

Anika called through the wood, her hand resting on the grain as she put her ear to the door gently. She was met with more knocking, the harsh rap jarring her head as she pulled back in surprise. Her brows furrowed at the strange behavior of whoever was behind the door, and she made up her mind not to answer it. As of now, she was just a sickly young woman, hardly able to fight off whatever kind of plausibly dangerous person who might be lurking behind the facade of a closed door. If they weren't going to answer her, she wasn't going to answer them.

"I'm not going to fall for any tricks you… you… person! If you don't tell me who you are, this door shall remained _locked_!"

Her voice shook a bit with the last word, and she hoped it hadn't sounded too awfully false. The entryway wasn't actually locked, and she worried briefly that the person might catch her insincerity. When there was no replying knock, Anika nodded her head strongly and turned back towards her chair. That had taken care of the matters at hand.

As Anika made her way back towards the strange man on the daybed, it wouldn't be a lie to say she didn't hear the disheveled sigh of a very disappointed person denied entry to the chambers. It also wouldn't be false to say she didn't see the crème colored envelope pushed hastily under the door, or hear the soft swish of skirts as a person very light on their feet descended the winding metal staircase leading away from Jennet's chamber door. For in that exact moment, her mysterious guest found enough of a break in his fitful slumber to try and toss the contents on his stomach again.

xXx

Hours later, as darkness reigned supreme over the fickle light of the dieing hearth embers, the heavy door of Jennet's chambers was pushed open gingerly. The tired woman standing in the doorway was etched in fatigue, her eyelids drooping dangerously low as she reached up to shield her burning lantern-light. Her dark eyes glanced casually over to the curled up for of Anika –her knees drawn up into her chest and she slept soundly in the hearth chair.

Jennet ran a hand through her hair, watching as tendrils on light from her lantern glazed over the person on her daybed. Erik. Even her thoughts dripped with disgust at his very presence. Her gaze swept across the room in a wide arch, looking for anything misplaced or mussed. She didn't trust this seemingly helpless man. He was the opera ghost for the Lord's sake! How could you put anything past him? Jennet didn't have the heart to tell Anika she was leaving her alone with the terror of the theater, and so her ignorance haunted Jennet's every thought. What if he was to wake? Rape, or even murder her poor little darling! Rubbing one of her temples irritably, Jennet placed her foot into the room. The soft scrape of paper on stone seemed to awaken her a bit, and she glanced down to the floor with an arched eyebrow.

What was this? A note? Bending down and picking up the paper between her slim fingers, Jennet eyed the outside of the envelope curiously. Certainly neither of the occupants of her room had had anything to do with it… Looking over to Anika anxiously, she almost expected the young woman to be returning the stare. What was she kidding? The recovering you woman was fast asleep. _Of coarse she was-_ Jennet thought to herself mockingly- _who wouldn't be at this hour?_

Placing the parchment on her nightside table, Jennet didn't even bother to undress. She placed the lantern next to the letter, climbed gracelessly into her bed and blew out the wick of her light. This strange note was nothing that couldn't wait until morning. Already sleep was claiming her, the complete and total darkness of the room only helping the process along. Jennet sincerely doubted she would even be able to read the print with her current state of fatigue, much less comprehend what exactly she was looking at.

It was nothing that couldn't wait until morning…

* * *

**(A/N: Ahhh. A cliffhanger. You like chapter? Read and review people. If I hit thirty reviews before the end of the week, the writing will be produced muuuuch faster. Just remember, reviews spawn inspiration!)**


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